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One thing I’ve learned in my time at The Haven is that there is no dress code. There’s no need for office attire, so today I’ve opted for some beige capri pants and a fitted white shirt. I can’t bring myself to revert to the flats that always graced my feet back home, so my toes are still pinching in my heels as I feel my way down the dark alleyway, counting in my head. I smile when the lights fire up, despite it hurting my eyes.
After negotiating the cobblestones a little further, I swipe my card and break free of the alley, entering the tranquil courtyard of The Haven. I can’t help it; I sigh and breathe it all in, closing my eyes on a satisfied smile. Yes, I love it here. Everything about it. I’m relatively free to immerse myself in the history I’ve only ever had the pleasure of reading about. I’m talking to art dealers across the globe, famed auction houses, and learning new things every day. It’s my own personal heaven.
‘Morning, princess.’
I jump, my eyes snapping open. ‘Jesus.’
Becker’s perfect eyebrow hitches at my surprise.
‘Don’t do that,’ I yell, making him recoil and pout a little. It’s an adorable pout, accompanied by something else in his eyes. It’s mischief, which worries me. My mouth snaps shut. Professional. Be professional. Where’s he come from, anyway? I haven’t arranged his return journey from South America. ‘You arranged your own travel?’ I ask.
‘Thought I’d surprise you. Did you miss me?’
Oh, I can feel that irritation beginning to bubble – I’m vehemently ignoring my awe. ‘Excuse me,’ I breathe calmly, knowing the importance of escaping before my greedy eyes get the opportunity to remind me of his beauty, or his lovely nose, or his short messy hair, or his broad shoulders, or his hazel eyes, or his . . .
I step forward a pace, keeping my eyes at my feet, hoping he’ll take the hint and get out of my way. It’s a few moments of waiting until I accept he isn’t going to, so I move to the left. And so does he.
‘I’m told you’re settling in well,’ he says, but I still refuse to look at him.
‘Yes, very well, thank you,’ I answer, giving myself a cheer for my professionalism. Then I move to the right. And so does he.
‘Good,’ he says quietly. ‘Very good.’
Biting my lip, desperately wrestling off the urge to take a quick peek at him, I step to the right again. And so does he. ‘Excuse me.’ It takes everything in me to maintain my strength. He’s like a magnet to my eyes. Nothing as stunning as him should be ignored. Immune? I laugh to myself. I don’t think that’s possible.
It’s a long, long while, but I eventually see his smart brogues shift.
‘My lady,’ he says quietly.
Damn it. I chance a peek up at him as I scoot past, catching the signs of a cheeky smirk. And, shit, if my eyes don’t sprint over his entire face as I continue past, and then down his tall frame.
‘I look better naked,’ he says, all low and sexy. That soon breaks my trance, and I swing away, outraged, marching on.
‘I don’t plan on finding out,’ I mutter under my breath, and he laughs, telling me I didn’t voice my promise quietly enough. I stop, turning to face him. ‘You know, I’m pretty sure I could make a complaint to HR about sexual harassment.’
He grins. ‘I am HR. What’s your complaint?’
I narrow my eyes. ‘You’re not funny.’
‘Then why are you fighting to hold back your grin?’
My lips purse. Damn him. ‘Are you going to continually try to get a rise out of me?’
‘A rise?’ He peeks down at his groin area, and then glances back up, his grin now mild. ‘Too late.’
My eyes naturally drop to his groin, and he chuckles as he turns and saunters away. My head cocks in admiration, his lovely backside my focus. It really is a sight to behold, his sexy swagger executed to a T.
‘Stop looking at my arse,’ he shouts over his shoulder.
I cringe. Holy shit, I need to find some control. He’s my boss, for Christ’s sake. ‘I was doing no such thing.’
‘You know,’ he calls, ‘I’m pretty sure I could make a complaint to HR.’
‘What’s your complaint?’ I ask on a frown.
‘That you’re undressing me with your eyes.’ He doesn’t entertain me with another glimpse of his lovely face, just carries casually on his way, disappearing through the large doors into the Grand Hall.
Oh my God, he’s impossible.
‘Morning, dear.’ Mrs Potts’s friendly tone cuts through my aggravation, and I turn around to find her with a watering can in her hand.
‘Morning,’ I chirp, feeling all kinds of guilty for being caught in the act – the act of total feebleness. I straighten myself out and walk over to her as she rains water over the beds of flowers edging the fountain. ‘How are you, Mrs Potts?’
